


Crossroads

by ArgentNoelle



Series: Crossroads (Black Butler SPN 'verse) [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler, Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Ciel Phantomhive, Caring Sebastian, Child Ciel Phantomhive, Childhood Trauma, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Dark Ciel Phantomhive, Demon Deals, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Ciel Phantomhive, Rescue, Revenge, at least he acts that way somewhat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 08:44:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13407600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentNoelle/pseuds/ArgentNoelle
Summary: His masked tormentors have summoned a crossroads demon. Ciel has a better offer.





	Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> What if Black Butler took place in the Supernatural universe?

There’s a sudden, horrible silence after the screams have ended, and the boy can hear the sound of his own ragged breathing. He’s unable to close his eyes, to stop looking at the sight in front of him, the dead mirror to his own face. _If I just close my eyes,_ the thought edges, treacherously, into his mind, _it will all go away_. But he knows it won’t. He learned that a long, long time ago. For a while, this is all that happens. He breathes, and the tear tracks that run down his cheeks dry cold and scratchy, and he is quiet and still so that maybe, just maybe, no one will look at him.

Then he hears the low chuckle coming from the depths of the room, from behind the bloodied altar, and notices the way the moth-masked figures congregate, looking toward the sound. “Really, I’m flattered by your interest, but this—” A shadowed hand, beyond the boundaries of the torches, gestures vaguely at the carnage around them, “wasn’t necessary to summon me.”

“Uh—of course,” a woman answers, breathlessly. One of the inner circle. “This was a gift, to show you our commitment to you.”

“Commitment?” the voice rolls out in disdain. “I make deals because it is my job to do so. I have no use for your _worship_.”

There’s an awkward silence at that, and the figure steps into the light, passing through the huddled, masked group, somehow managing to make these people who have made the boy’s nightmares all this time look thin, petty, and uncertain. He is tall, with a pleasant face, unusually long hair. For a moment, the boy wonders if it is wearing his father, because surely that is what would happen in a nightmare, but on a further, more intense glance, the resemblance is but that—a resemblance. Still, it disquiets him. It’s such a novel emotion, this disquiet, such a relief from the terror, the rage and the agony, the fear and despair of this interminable time that it brings the boy back into himself, steadies him, allows him to think with the sort of calm rationality he thought he had lost forever.

Because this—this could be his chance. Long after he stopped praying to God and His angels, this unholy being has stepped in, with the one thing the boy knows what to do with. A deal.

“ _I_ have a deal for you, demon,” the boy calls out, steadily. “And I will pay the price for it.”

The demon looks over in surprise, what might be amusement in the curl of his lip. His red eyes flash. “Now, who are you, little one?”

“Don’t listen to him,” one of the masked figures tries to protest.

“And why shouldn’t I?” the demon returns, scornfully. “You’ve summoned me here, but I don’t hear any of you willing to offer me a single soul. I’ve wasted my time.”

Before the other can get out more than a single “no, please—” the hand has moved, and he screams as his throat is crushed, flung backward into the walls. A few others try to run, and the demon takes them down as well, easily. The sight of the power at the being’s fingertips makes the boy calmer still. If this is what can be done to his tormenters, only think—no one else will ever be able to hurt him again. He starts to draft the content of the deal in his mind, tries to work out everything he wants. It’s an incredible amount to ask for, he admits to himself—he’s never heard of it being done—but better to start a bargain from a higher position and have to haggle it down.

“Ciel,” the boy says, quietly, then stronger. “Ciel Phantomhive.” He doesn’t know if the demon believes him. He doesn’t really care.

The _click_ of the strangely metallic women’s heels the demon wears is loud as he walks over to where the boy is standing, still caged, and watching.

“Well?” he asks, pleasantly, as though this is an ordinary day. It must be, for him. The boy steels himself.

“I want you to free me from this place,” he starts.

“That is easily done.”

“It’s not all,” the boy says sharply, and the demon watches him with a considering expression. He continues. “I want you to help me gain my revenge on those who killed my parents. And in the meanwhile, before that has been achieved, I want you to stay by my side, to be my protector.”

There is a long moment when the boy thinks that he has asked for too much, for such a ludicrous thing that the demon will turn away in disgust. But finally, it smiles again. “What an interesting wish,” he says. And drags the bars of the cage apart with inhuman strength. The boy steps out, staring unflinchingly at the demon, who inclines his head, slightly, almost respectfully.

“Shall we seal the deal?”

“Yes,” the boy answers, shakily. He stands, still, unsure of what to do. The demon kneels down. “A kiss is all that’s needed,” he says, calmly, without reaching for the boy.

The boy stares, trying to make himself walk the few steps more into the demon’s space. He cannot. _Stupid_ , he berates himself. _Surely, a few steps cannot be that hard! He acceded to all your demands._ He clenches his fists tight, takes a shaky breath, and steps forward. Once. Then another time. Then he is standing close enough to the demon to touch it.

Still, it doesn’t reach out, but merely stays, waiting, watchful, and with that quiet amusement in his eyes. Without offering the boy help. Without trying to persuade him. The boy leans forward, awkwardly, and hesitates, unsure of what to do. With all that has been taken from him, this had never been one of them. Not a kiss. And that is all the demon needs. Without closing his eyes, he leans forward, puts his lips onto the demon’s mouth, and leaves it there, breathing for a moment, staring into its uncanny red eyes. He pushes his mouth forward, slightly, trying to make the demon react, and eventually it does, turning the kiss, making it almost… pleasant. It does not touch him otherwise.

Then Ciel leans back, staring at his contractor.

“Thank you,” the demon says. The fire in its eyes seems to light even more. “There are a few of them left, here, still. Shall I kill them for you?”

“Yes,” Ciel answers. “But—wait—”

It gives him an inscrutable look, as though waiting for him to have second thoughts, to plead that he didn’t mean any of it after all. Ciel narrows his eyes and stands taller, the imperious tone in his voice coming freely to his tongue. “That body—the one on the altar.”

“Ah yes,” the demon says. “Your brother. Would you like me to bury him?” Its tone is mild, almost servile, a harsh contrast from what he had used in regards to Ciel’s tormentors.

“No,” Ciel says coldly. “A body is a body. His soul has gone to a better place.” If only it has! The boy thinks. He does not believe in goodness anymore, but his brother deserves that. “But I need something from it—a ring, in his stomach.”

“A ring?” Clearly, he has managed to surprise the demon again, though he hides it well. He walks over to the body, ripping into it carelessly and digging among the guts inside. “Hmmm. Found it,” he says at last, holding something bloody between red-stained fingers. “May I ask what is so important about this ring?”

Ciel does not want to answer the question, but a deception like this can be more easily pulled off if his greatest ally is in the know. He walks forward, unable to keep himself at glancing at his twin’s face as he does so. “It is the legitimacy for my title.”

“And why was it in _his_ stomach?”

“Why don’t you try to guess,” Ciel answers, caustically. His nerves feel frayed, and he can hardly keep himself from vomiting at the rancid smell of death around them. The room seems to press itself close around him.

“Perhaps because it is not _your_ title after all,” the demon says.

“Perhaps it is. Perhaps it isn’t. There’s really no way to know, is there?” Ciel asks. “Seeing as he’s dead.”

He pauses. Somehow, the fact that he had said the words, and without even thinking, makes them realer than ever. The panic, that had abated, comes back with even more force. For a moment, he trembles, caught in the never-ending blankness of terror.

The demon kneels down again, drawing close to his level, and reaches carefully for his hand, holding the ring. Ciel lets him slide it on his finger, and closes his hand around it, letting it dig into his skin; turns his hand. In the light, it flashes, blue and bloody red.

“As long as you have this ring,” the demon says, “you can never forget your brother. It will be as though his ghost is watching you… every moment… knowing the evil you’ve done.”

“Yes,” Ciel said. He assumes the statement is meant to fill him with fear, unless it only is meant to calm him down long enough for them to get out of this infernal place.

He closes his hand. “That’s done,” he said at last. “Now we can get on to other things.”

“Good,” the demon says, with a sigh, breathing out in excitement. “I’ll come back for you, then.”

“No. Take me with you.”

The demon stares at him. “If you want that, you’ll have to let me carry you. I can’t fight if I have to worry about you tagging along somewhere behind.”

“Fine.” Ciel raises his arms, letting the demon pick him up and take him out of that terrible room. He sees as they run through the corridors, silently gaining on each and every last person still alive in the building. He hears his demon’s laughter as they die.

 _Yes_ , Ciel thinks. _This could end up being quite the fortuitous arrangement._


End file.
